New ficlet, Harry/Ron, Something's Missing, R
Title: Something's Missing
Pairing(s)/Characters: Harry/Ron
Rating: R
Warnings: none.
Summary: Things just don't seem to be working out for Ron the way he planned.
Author's Notes: Written for shocolate , who wanted boykissing
Words: 809
Until recently, it never occurred to Ron that it might be odd that Harry had been present during not only his first kiss with Hermione, but his first kiss with Lavender, too. Somehow it seemed natural at the time. Which was sort of unnatural, really, but somehow it always seemed better when Harry was there.
Maybe that was why it hadn't worked out with Hermione. When Harry wasn't in the picture, something was missing, or perhaps it was easier to attribute the sweaty palms, racing heart and prickly skin to the way that Hermione made him feel, rather than how it felt to know that Harry was there , trying not to watch. Whatever the reason, for all the anticipation, getting what he'd always wanted was a bit of a letdown. And how many times over the course of their two years together did Hermione accuse him of choosing Harry over her, whether it was going back to school, choosing a job, or even choosing pints at the pub with his best mate rather than a candlelit dinner a'deux?
At any rate, she'd buggered off with someone who 'appreciated' her (well, of course he did, Boot was damn lucky to get her, the poncy git) and Ron was left holding his dick in his hand, wondering if he really did prefer Harry to her. Because walking in on him when Roger Davies had his tongue down his throat hadn't bothered him in the way that walking in on him and Ginny had (eww, mate, that's my sister you've got your hands all over!) or him and Romilda had (listen, I know Ginny chucked you and quite frankly she was a bit of a bitch about it, but really, you can do better than that).
It wasn't even what might have been the obvious reaction (what the fuck are you doing with that poofter, Harry?). This hurt more than anything else (back off, boffin, he's mine!) and Ron had a hard time resisting the urge to rearrange Davies' ridiculously pretty face . And now Harry was avoiding him, too, and Ron was bewildered and lonely and he couldn't get the mental image of that kiss to go away. Because it should have been him that Harry was clinging to like that, and it should have been his lips making Harry groan in a way that he'd never done with Ginny (not that Ron was listening, mind you. Of course not). It should have been Ron's lap that Harry was straddling, especially if he was going to grind down like that. And most importantly, it should have been Ron that Harry had confided in, because it wasn't fucking on that he'd kept something this huge locked up inside. It must have hurt bearing all that confusion alone--hell, Ron was having trouble bearing it himself, and he'd only actually acknowledged his feelings in the last week. How long had Harry had to bear them? More than anything, it hurt that Ron hadn't been able to help. To listen at least, even if he couldn't help with the physical stuff.
Though perhaps Harry might not have wanted his help with the physical stuff. And that was the real problem, wasn't it?
If you were going to go snogging blokes, why not me? Not good enough for you? What, you had to go and find the Quidditch captain, the fucking genius, Witch Weekly's two time most charming smile winner?
Not your best mate, who's loved you for ages?
All right, maybe even I didn't know how much, but at least you could have asked.
Which is what he planned to tell Harry just as soon as he got home. If he was alone, that was.
Please let him be alone, Ron thought as he paced the hallway in front of the door to Harry's flat. He'd worked himself into such a state by the time that Harry finally did arrive (alone) that he let out this ridiculous girlish squeak and rounded on Harry. Relieved, yet hurt that Harry couldn't seem to look him in the eye, all Ron's impassioned arguments vanished on the tip of his tongue.
Instead, his body seemed to take over, and before he realised what he was doing, he was pressing Harry into the wall, and Harry was clinging to him just like he should have been all along. Harry was groaning into Ron's mouth, and their tongues were doing battle and his body felt bloody fucking perfect grinding up against Ron's cock like that.
As kisses went, it was hard and sloppy and noisy and not the least bit romantic--and yet Ron's heart was so filled with emotion that he thought he might die from it. Or burst into flames. It shouldn't have been a surprise, but there was no denying that what had been missing with Hermione was this. Because this was where Ron belonged. This was home.
Pairing(s)/Characters: Harry/Ron
Rating: R
Warnings: none.
Summary: Things just don't seem to be working out for Ron the way he planned.
Author's Notes: Written for shocolate , who wanted boykissing
Words: 809
Until recently, it never occurred to Ron that it might be odd that Harry had been present during not only his first kiss with Hermione, but his first kiss with Lavender, too. Somehow it seemed natural at the time. Which was sort of unnatural, really, but somehow it always seemed better when Harry was there.
Maybe that was why it hadn't worked out with Hermione. When Harry wasn't in the picture, something was missing, or perhaps it was easier to attribute the sweaty palms, racing heart and prickly skin to the way that Hermione made him feel, rather than how it felt to know that Harry was there , trying not to watch. Whatever the reason, for all the anticipation, getting what he'd always wanted was a bit of a letdown. And how many times over the course of their two years together did Hermione accuse him of choosing Harry over her, whether it was going back to school, choosing a job, or even choosing pints at the pub with his best mate rather than a candlelit dinner a'deux?
At any rate, she'd buggered off with someone who 'appreciated' her (well, of course he did, Boot was damn lucky to get her, the poncy git) and Ron was left holding his dick in his hand, wondering if he really did prefer Harry to her. Because walking in on him when Roger Davies had his tongue down his throat hadn't bothered him in the way that walking in on him and Ginny had (eww, mate, that's my sister you've got your hands all over!) or him and Romilda had (listen, I know Ginny chucked you and quite frankly she was a bit of a bitch about it, but really, you can do better than that).
It wasn't even what might have been the obvious reaction (what the fuck are you doing with that poofter, Harry?). This hurt more than anything else (back off, boffin, he's mine!) and Ron had a hard time resisting the urge to rearrange Davies' ridiculously pretty face . And now Harry was avoiding him, too, and Ron was bewildered and lonely and he couldn't get the mental image of that kiss to go away. Because it should have been him that Harry was clinging to like that, and it should have been his lips making Harry groan in a way that he'd never done with Ginny (not that Ron was listening, mind you. Of course not). It should have been Ron's lap that Harry was straddling, especially if he was going to grind down like that. And most importantly, it should have been Ron that Harry had confided in, because it wasn't fucking on that he'd kept something this huge locked up inside. It must have hurt bearing all that confusion alone--hell, Ron was having trouble bearing it himself, and he'd only actually acknowledged his feelings in the last week. How long had Harry had to bear them? More than anything, it hurt that Ron hadn't been able to help. To listen at least, even if he couldn't help with the physical stuff.
Though perhaps Harry might not have wanted his help with the physical stuff. And that was the real problem, wasn't it?
If you were going to go snogging blokes, why not me? Not good enough for you? What, you had to go and find the Quidditch captain, the fucking genius, Witch Weekly's two time most charming smile winner?
Not your best mate, who's loved you for ages?
All right, maybe even I didn't know how much, but at least you could have asked.
Which is what he planned to tell Harry just as soon as he got home. If he was alone, that was.
Please let him be alone, Ron thought as he paced the hallway in front of the door to Harry's flat. He'd worked himself into such a state by the time that Harry finally did arrive (alone) that he let out this ridiculous girlish squeak and rounded on Harry. Relieved, yet hurt that Harry couldn't seem to look him in the eye, all Ron's impassioned arguments vanished on the tip of his tongue.
Instead, his body seemed to take over, and before he realised what he was doing, he was pressing Harry into the wall, and Harry was clinging to him just like he should have been all along. Harry was groaning into Ron's mouth, and their tongues were doing battle and his body felt bloody fucking perfect grinding up against Ron's cock like that.
As kisses went, it was hard and sloppy and noisy and not the least bit romantic--and yet Ron's heart was so filled with emotion that he thought he might die from it. Or burst into flames. It shouldn't have been a surprise, but there was no denying that what had been missing with Hermione was this. Because this was where Ron belonged. This was home.